TriCubes, Leda, and Mom

Phillip Larrea

TriCube # 1

—Phillip Larrea, Sacramento

Don’t swallow

the whole pie.

Just a bite.

Platitudes

amplified—

Certitude.

What is left

is not right.

But remains.

___________________

TriCube # 2

—Phillip Larrea
 

Hurry now!

Moneyball

gonna drop.

Just one buck

for the chance.

Cry, “Bingo!”

Not for me.

Take my card.

I’m tapped out.

___________________

TriCube # 3

—Phillip Larrea

Seize my home???

Sell me short???

Foreclosure.

Two bedrooms,

one bathroom.

And a dog.

Property

is bank-owned.

Always was.

___________________

TriCube # 4

—Phillip Larrea
 

Spitting nails.

Crying, “Foul!”

Street protests.

What they stole,

they sell back.

And we buy.

Tell the truth.

You did too.

Didn’t you?

__________________

TriCube # 5

—Phillip Larrea
 

A chess match.

Since you’re white,

you move first.

Knights, castle,

Queen lost. King

checkmated.

No deaths here.

Just pieces

of me gone.

__________________

Leda Addresses the Swan

—Katy Brown, Davis

Your silent approach across the lake,

rapid enough to push a rippled vee

of water before your breast,

enchants me.  Red beak,

white-flashed midnight wings,

your sensuous neck:

feathered seduction

mirrored in the water,

coming for me.

If I tame you, find affection

in your wild eyes,

I lose my own innocent heart.

If we meet, wild on wild,

taking and giving equally,

neither is diminished.

Come to me on this rocky shore:

with wings and neck and downy breast,

and take me to the realm of myth.

__________________

The Poet's Moon

—Katy Brown

It is a Poet’s Moon that drags light

from the darkness beyond the horizon;

resolves radiance in a wash of pearl.

Every other full moon shines silver,

dusting shadowed trees.

But this brighter moon

penetrates the night.

It is this lighted darkness

that captivates the poet—

this bigger, brighter moon

that calls the muses

from their slumber.

A restless moon rises tonight:

a Poet’s Moon.

 

__________________

Mama’s day
—charles mariano, sacramento

Mother’s Day again
not going to cry about it
i’m over that
‘sides, not the only one

sons and daughters
who no longer
have this day
on their cherished agenda,

who now try to quietly
slip by,
pretend it’s not there

no need to buy a gift
no long drive,
no flowers,
no warm embrace

no little boys
to lay their troubled heads
in their mother’s lap
as she gently caresses,
eases the pain

today doesn’t matter
doesn’t hurt

i wake up early
watch morning darkness
shift to light,
close my eyes

“ahh Mama,
just let me lay my head here,
a few…precious seconds”

_____________________

Thanks to Phillip Larrea, Katy Brown and Charles Mariano for today's poems, and D.R Wagner for the photo (see below). Phillip Larrea is the editor of the "minutedots" investment newsletter and a syndicated columnist for Examiner.com. In 2012 his poetry has appeared in the Poetry Bus and Outburst Magazine in Ireland, as well as Sacramento Poetry Art and Music, The Artistic Muse and Nostrovia To Writing. Phillip has created an original poetic short form he calls "TriCubes". These poems each have three stanzas, three lines per stanza and three syllables per line. For more about them (and Phillip), go to pcvandall.wordpress.com/2012/04/19/the-rubiks-cube-has-nothing-on-phillip-larreas-tri-cube (where today's TriCubes have previously appeared) or see www.theartisticmuse.com/poehemians-submitted-poetry.html and scroll down for more TriCubes.

____________________ 

Today's LittleNip: 

RESURRECTIONS
—A.R. Ammons

In spring

a bluster

busting up

against a

wall will

lift last

year's leaves

higher than

trees did.  

____________________

—Medusa

Medusa Jellyfish